


Love Thy (Fellow) Goalie, Love Thyself

by onmyownlittleplanet



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Love Thy Goalie, Soft Bros, how is this so soft??? I don't know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 13:53:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12772443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onmyownlittleplanet/pseuds/onmyownlittleplanet
Summary: Four hellos Dylan Ferguson got from the Vegas goalies, and one goodbye.





	Love Thy (Fellow) Goalie, Love Thyself

**Author's Note:**

> If you found this by searching for yourself or someone you know, please turn back now.

There are many different ways of feeling exhausted, and they all bring you down in different ways. There’s feeling-sick exhausted, playing-sixty-minutes-plus-OT exhausted, video-games-until-4AM exhausted, oh-fuck-I-forgot-about-my-paper-due-tomorrow-and-it’s-already-11PM exhausted.

None of those types of exhaustion, however, came close to comparing to the current ache that had sunk into Dylan’s bones, engulfing his soul and filling his veins with lead. His neck strained to keep his head upright, hand twitching against the large black suitcase at rest next to him.

The reality of the past sixteen hours washed over him. The call from George McPhee- _holy fuck, George McPhee_ \- interrupting his intended dinner of wings before it had even begun, his sprint from the table at Boston Pizza to his billet house, packing in a rush, and bolting to Kamloops Airport. The flights from Kamloops to Vancouver, Vancouver to Toronto, Toronto to New York. And now, standing at the baggage carousel in LaGuardia Airport, Dylan wondered whether it was happening at all- if this was some kind of wings-induced hallucination and he had passed out in a booth in Columbia Square.

“Yo, Fergy!”

A shout across the Arrivals hall broke Dylan out of his haze. A serious-faced man with a thinning hairline of reddish hair and a short beard jogged towards him.

“Lindy?” Dylan blinked at Oscar, confused, as he approached. “Shouldn’t you be at practice right now?”

“I come to pick you up and I don’t even get a hug?” Oscar’s lips twitched as he reached around and grabbed Dylan’s suitcase. “Goalie hugs are the best hugs.”

“Mmm? Yeah dude, bring it in.” Dylan’s eyes drooped as he snaked his arms around Oscar’s waist and buried his face in the center’s shoulder.

Dylan might be almost the exact same height and weight as Oscar Lindberg, but age and exhaustion made him feel much younger than his nineteen years next to the twenty -six-year-old. He sagged deeper into the hug as he felt a large hand rub up and down his back.

“Hey, man, don’t fall asleep just yet. I’m not the only one here who wants to see you.”

Dylan raised his head and opened his eyes blearily, only to see a sad-eyed blond man standing there, leaning on his own suitcase oddly. “Hey, Danser, how’re you feeling?”

“Like crap, but it’ll be fine. Just a sprain, it’s all taped up right now.” Oscar Dansk limped over to Dylan and tapped on Lindberg’s shoulder. “ _Släppa honom_ , Oscar.”

Lindberg gave Dylan a final pat on the back and withdrew his arms. “ _Håll käften_ , Oscar.”

“Oh, no, please tell me the Oscar/Oscar thing isn’t a thing.” Dylan gingerly slid his arms around Dansk’s back, careful to let the older goaltender take the lead as he wrapped his arms around Dylan’s shoulders and leaned on him gently. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, they gave me pills for the flight and I’ll get ice. They’re good to us goalies, I promise.” The arms around Dylan tightened. “It really is just bad luck, I swear.”

“I mean, I wasn’t really worried about that. They were good to us this summer, and I figured they’re just freaking out now.”

“Pretty much.” Dansk groaned, lifting his weight off of Dylan and retreating from the hug. “Prior’ll treat you right, he’s amazing. And the team is great, they’ll be take care of you. Love thy goalie and all that.”

He paused, giving himself a moment to settle back on his feet, leaning slightly on his suitcase once more as he pulled out his phone. “I have to catch my flight back, but we’ll text, okay? Give me your number, I’m gonna share it with Subby and Flower, too.”

“Get better soon, dude. I don’t think I’m ready for this,” Dylan said as he typed his number into Dansk’s phone.

“Nobody’s ever ready for this. It’s okay, Fergs. You’re gonna be great.” He reached forward and smoothed Dylan’s hair gently. “I’ll be praying for you to be great at just sitting on the bench, though, for your sake.”

“Thanks. At this rate, I’ll be asleep on the bench tonight, so that’s probably a good idea.”

“Whoa, there, Fergy. I gotta get you to the hotel, and Dansey here needs to catch a plane.” Lindberg nudged Dylan’s shoulder. “He needs to heal, and you need to be awake tonight.” He turned to Dansk. “Are you gonna be okay getting through security on your own?”

“ _Ja_ , I should be fine. Take care of Dylan and make sure he makes it home in one piece.” He grinned and patted Dylan’s shoulder. “Us goalies need to stick together.”

 

***********************************************

 

_Thunk_

The sound of someone sitting down heavily resonated through the wooden bench Dylan was sitting on. He lifted his head from between his pads and turned to the left to look at Max. “Howya doing? Feeling good? Healthy? Please say yes.”

“I’m good, thanks. Hoping to stay that way, so don’t jinx it.” Max grinned down at Dylan shakily, his Québécois accent rolling through the words. “Neither of us is ready for this, but you shouldn’t need to be. I’m going to do my best for you, okay?”

Dylan smiled weakly and sat up. “Thanks, man. Not that I wouldn’t love to play, which I would- but the only sleep I’ve had in two days was my hour nap at the hotel, and I really, _really_ , don’t want to fall asleep between the pipes.”

“No, I get it. I came back over here to make sure you hadn’t fallen asleep bent over on your pads like that, it looks bad for your… well, for just about everything.” Max leaned back and let his head rest on the back of his stall. “You and me, we’re the last ones left. We got to look out for each other.” His gaze swept across the room. “They’re good guys, but they won’t get it. _La voie du gardien_ is just ours now.”

Max pulled off his his blocker and wrapped his arm around Dylan, pulling him closer and letting the younger goalie rest his head on Max’s well-padded shoulder. Dylan felt Max’s head drop onto his own as they scooted together into as much of a snuggle as they could manage in their goalie stalls and full pads.

Dylan let his eyes drift closed until, amidst the bustle of the dressing room, he heard a voice above him say softly, “Flower would be so proud of you right now, Lagacé. Locker room goalie cuddles are very on-brand for him.”

Dylan tilted his head to blink at James Neal slowly. “He seems like a guy who knows what’s up. Wish I knew him better.” He closed his eyes again and tucked his head deeper into Max’s neck.

“Keep an eye on him for us, okay?” Dylan felt Nealer’s hand run over his hair gently. “He should be back in BC with his buddies, training and playing. We’ll do our best to take care of you, and you do your goalie thing with him. We believe in you guys, okay?”

“Thanks,” Dylan mumbled, his voice further muffled from being half-shoved into Max’s pads. “Wish you could be believing in me with me more awake, though.”

Nealer chuckled, and gave Dylan’s hair a final pat. “You’ve got time, I think. You’re one of us for now, and we gotta take care of our own.”

  
  


After the game, Max sits in the front of the bus and gently tugs Dylan into the seat next to him. He snakes his fingers through Dylan’s smaller ones and tucks Dylan’s head into his shoulder. As the team files past them, Dylan collects shoulder rubs and head pats as he smiles up at them sleepily, happy despite the loss. Bellemare kisses his forehead with a soft “ _bonne nuit_ ”. Max squeezes his hand and nods against Dylan’s head.

They don’t mean for pre- and post-game snuggling to become a thing, but it does.

 

***********************************************

 

Dylan woke up the next morning in a hotel room in Boston, surrounded by fluffy white clouds of bed and still in his gameday suit pants and shirt. The last thing he remembered was Max pushing him up the stairs to the plane. It’s a little embarrassing to consider how he must have gotten here, but he figured the team understood.

He found his phone sitting on the nightstand, dead. Climbing out from under the comforter, he rummaged through his suitcase to pull out a phone charger, ambled back over to the nightstand, and plugged his phone into the wall.

Stripping off his pants, Dylan discovered his jacket, coat, and tie carefully laid over the desk chair. He unbuttoned his shirt as his phone began to vibrate continuously, finally receiving what was probably a massive number of texts from family, Lantzville friends, and Blazers.

Once his shirt was off and his phone had finally stopped buzzing, Dylan plopped back down on the fluffy mattress in his boxers and undershirt. He glanced at his phone, seeing that he’d slept until nearly noon, and that texts from an unknown number sat at the top of his inbox. He unlocked his phone with his thumb, then went into the Messages app with the little red alert showing a whopping 394 new messages. He opened the first thread with a small smile.

 **[Unknown Number]:** Hi, this is Véronique from Marc-André Fleury’s phone. He can’t look at screens right now, but he would love to speak with you if you would like.

 **[Unknown Number]:** If you are interested, text before you call and I will give him the phone.

 **[Unknown Number]:** Before you worry too much, since it has been so long, he is doing much better, but yesterday was a bad day so we want to be careful today.

 **[Unknown Number]:** When you get to Vegas, please come by for lunch or dinner, as long as you don’t mind little dogs or the girls climbing on you. I’ll text you the address.

 

Dylan twitched his lips, touched, as he went to respond to Véronique’s texts.

 **[Me]:** Thanks, that would be great! I have no idea how long I’ll be up, but if I still am, we get back the morning of the 8th, and we don’t have practice then, so would that work for you? I’d be happy to meet the girls and dogs!

 **[Me]:** And can I call in about an hour? I’ll let you know right before I do.

 

Dylan stripped out of his boxers and undershirt while he waited for a reply. As he began to head for the bathroom, he heard his phone buzz twice more.

 **[Unknown Number]:** Sure! Come by for lunch if you are feeling up to it, and you can rest up here. I don’t know where they will be putting you, but we would be offering if we could.

 **[Unknown Number]:** Marc says he thinks you will be up a solid two weeks. He believes Malcolm will be the first one back from what the trainers have been saying.

 

Dylan put his phone down and headed back to the bathroom to shower and deal with his now-fading morning wood, humming softly to himself and shaking his head in disbelief at his life.

As he left the bathroom after his shower, a towel wrapped around his hips and a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth, he heard a knock on his door. He quickly ran back to the sink to spit out the toothpaste before yelling, “Who is it?”

“It’s Alex Tuch, dude! You decent?”

“Yeah, nope! Just got out of the shower!”, Dylan yelled back through to door, before hastily taking a sip of water from the sink faucet and spitting out the toothpaste remnants.

“No shits, man, it’s nothing I won’t see in the locker room.”

Dylan re-exited the bathroom and pulled the door open just a bit before having to jump back as Tuch charged in and grabbed him around the waist, picking him up for a quick spinny hug before putting Dylan back down and hopping onto the bed and bouncing on it. Dylan grabbed for his now-loosened towel and shut the door.

“Sup, Fergs! Good to see you awake again! How’re you doing?” Tuchsy had way too much energy for Dylan’s now well-rested but still sleep-addled brain. “It’s lunchtime, and you haven’t eaten in way too long! Can’t lose our new baby goalie to passing out from hunger!”

Dylan followed Tuch over to the bed and punched him in the shoulder before dropping his towel and heading over to the suitcase. “Yeah, I’m starving. I got my call yester- wait, two days ago, after I ordered dinner but never got to eat it, and I’ve just been sleepwalking since.”

Tuchsy snorted. “Yeah, when Schmidty tried to feed you a sandwich yesterday before the game? Hilarious. You basically just snored at him, but I think you ate half.” He bounced on the bed again. “Man, I think they give you goalies the best beds.”

“Yeah, I totally don’t remember that, but it does explain the mustard on my shirt. And yeah, I slept great- don’t say it, not like a baby, you’re only two years older than me.” Dylan pulled on a fresh pair of boxers and jeans. He hunted around in the suitcase looking for his belt, with no success. “Know anywhere I can grab something quick to eat? Flower said I should call him in a bit.”

“Wait, you heard from him!?” Tuchsy bounced even higher on the bed. “I thought he wasn’t texting today.”

“Yeah, Véronique texted me from his phone for him? His wife, I think?” Dylan gave up looking for a belt and grabbed a long-sleeved shirt and his Golden Knights hoodie from preseason out of his bag. “He’s apparently okay to call, though.”

“Oh, man, that’s good to hear. He’s had a lot of good and bad days this time, with the concussion and all. He’s such a good dude, wish he were okay and here with us.” Tuchsy froze and snapped to look at Dylan, sitting still for the first time since barging in. “Not that I’m not happy to have you here! I just mean I wish it was under better circumstances, you know. He’s an awesome dude- all our goalies are, seriously, it’s crazy, they’re amazing- but I really wish you were here under better circumstances. Hey, ready to go? Millsy recommended a place, but you’re welcome to pick something else.”

“Nah, I’m good with whatever. At this point, I’d eat my own net.” Dylan finished tying his shoes and grabbed his phone and wallet before following Tuchsy out the door.

  
  


As soon as he re-entered his room after lunch, Dylan immediately texted Flower’s phone.

 **[Me]:** Hey, are you free to talk now?

 

Dylan lay down on his now-made bed and started looking through his texts and tweets, responding to some of them and scrolling past others. He liked a few of the tweets, like Mayor Haime back in Lantzville, who still hadn’t learned he didn’t need to put his name at the end of a tweet, or some great hot takes on him sitting on the bench, bleary-eyed and obviously very confused.

_Buzz buzz buzz buzz_

Twitter disappeared under the Incoming Call screen, and Dylan swiped to accept.

 _“Hi, is dis Dylan Ferguson?”_ Flower’s usually strong Québécois accent sounded even thicker than usual.

“Yeah, it’s me! Flower? Howya holding up?” Dylan grabbed a pillow from the other side of the bed and stuck it behind his back to prop himself up.

_“Eh, this sucks. Spent lots of time in zhe dark, snuggling with Véro and my girls and zhe dogs. Sunglasses indoors look dumb but zhey do help. I’m doing a lot better, but yesterday I was a little dizzy, so I’m staying away from lights and screens just in case.”_

“Ouch, that sucks. I’m sorry to hear that.” Dylan wiggled deeper into the pillows.

_“Not what I wanted to tell you, d’ough. I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me- hey, whoa, non, Scarlett, ne pas t’assois là!”_

“Everything okay there?”

_“Yes, Scarlett just climbing over me to be next to za dogs. But what I wanted to tell you was, just don’t worry about me, don’t worry about anything. Zhe team will take care of you, Prior is going to help you out a lot- he’s really good, I promise, and he’s a nice guy.”_

“... Um, thanks? What do you mean, don’t worry, though? I just got called up, and there’s nobody else behind me? They literally just called up a teenager in _Kamloops_ because there’s nobody else. Not gonna lie, a little nervous here. Thrilled, like, super happy to be here, and I’d love to play, but I’m not an NHL starter and I don’t think I’m ready to try if I need to.” Dylan scrubbed his hand through his hair. “I’m gonna do my best, and I remember Prior was awesome this summer, but I don’t think that’s enough.”

_“Zhat’s what I mean. You’re a kid out of juniors, nobody has any expectations from you. If you do horribly, nobody cares, because you are not supposed to be here- zhat’s not supposed to be mean, you know what I’m saying- you should be back in juniors, developing more. If you do great, everyone will be happy, but nobody expects it. No pressure. Just do your best, and whatever that is will be amazing no matter what.”_

“Um. Thanks? I mean, everyone’s been really nice about everything, I’m just worried that- that this might be my only shot, and I want to make the most of it.” Dylan pushed himself more upright on the bed. “If I never make it back, I want to have no regrets about how I did.”

 _“I promise you, nobody will ever hold zhis against you, and if zhey do, you send them to me and I will fight zhem. Once I’m better, of course.”_ A chuckle came over the phone. _“Just stay in once piece, and don’t score a goal before I get to.”_

“Basically no chance of that. I might not get to play, and I _definitely_ won’t do well enough to chase the other goalie.” Dylan shifted the front pillow behind him, trying to get comfortable. “I get it, though. I know nobody expects me to do that, I just need to sit on the bench and be healthy.”

_“Don’t expect it to be easy- Dave Prior is a grand-père who will kick your ass and make you thank him for it.”_

“I’m not expecting it to be easy, and I’m gonna do my best for him and for all of you guys.”

_“Non, non. Do your best for you. We don’t expect anything from you. Zhis is zhe only time you will ever have no expectations at all to live up to, and zhis is a really cool opportunity you have here. Even if you never come back up, which I think you will, you’ve got zhe chance to train with an NHL goalie coach, with an amazing team, and experience being in zhe NHL wit’ none of zhe pressure to perform. Just enjoy it.”_

Dylan smiled softly, letting himself sink back down into the pillows. “Thanks, Flower. That means a lot.”

_“Anything else you want to talk about? Best pranks to pull on Nealsy? I can help you out, I have lots of tips.”_

Dylan laughed, and settled in for a long chat.

 

***********************************************

 

Dylan had thought his trip from Kamloops to New York City was a crazy experience, but it was nothing compared to what followed his arrival in Boston. After his chat with Flower, he had been added to a groupchat named The Round Table, which he quickly discovered was the team chat. He’d been called into Engelland’s room for “team bonding”, which turned out to just be a giant cuddle pile started by the As for all the young players, not that it had stopped the older guys from joining in as well. Schmidty in particular, despite his oddly terrifying smile that made you feel like he wanted to eat you and make you into a skin suit, made an excellent and very willing big spoon. Max cuddled up next to them and held Dylan’s hand as Perron stroked Max’s hair and spoke to him gently in Québécois.

After a while, Engelland spoke up from where his head rested on Karlsson’s chest. “We’re gonna keep our goalies safe, boys. Nobody touches a goddamn hair on their heads. I don’t care if the puck goes in behind them as long as we keep them in once piece. They’re Knights, and us Knights protect our own. All clear?”

He was met with a chorus of “aye”s, which Dylan guessed had become a team thing.There seemed to be a lot of those, and it seemed to be a good thing. He snuggled back against Schmidty and squeezed Max’s hand.

  
  


NHL practices were hard. Dylan added a new type of exhaustion to his list: goalie-practice-with-Dave-Prior exhaustion. Sitting on an NHL bench was a fascinating experience, watching the flow of the game around him. Dylan was traveling and eating with the team, working with the trainers, and doing his best to be ready if he was called upon to live his life’s dream- to play in an NHL game. He spoke with Flower, hung out with the team, and snuggled with Max. Dylan wasn’t quite sure what he was doing with Max, but that seemed okay- as Flower kept reminding him, no pressure.

  
  


The morning of the Habs game, the final game of the six-game roadie Dylan had joined, he was called into the team manager’s hotel room.

“You’re staying at the Flamingo Hotel, and I don’t want to see or hear anything about you getting into places and things that you’re too young for.” Ana handed him a folder and fixed Dylan with a look that would have made his mother proud. “Let us know if you have any issues, Max and Oscar are staying there, too. I’ll drive you there after we land tomorrow morning. Now go away, I have other things to do.”

Dylan scurried away.

  
  


Véronique Fleury picked him up from the Flamingo and drove him to her and Flower’s house for lunch. She rang the doorbell instead of unlocking the door, stepping to the side afterwards and pushing Dylan in front of it. When it opened, Flower engulfed Dylan in a hug that warmed him deeper than the hot desert sun. A white, fluffy dog rubbed against Dylan’s knees where his shorts ended, and another fluffy dog, this one tan, came running out the door to Véro, a little blonde girl at its side.

“You’re doing great,” Flower murmured into Dylan’s hair. “You’re doing great.”

Dylan ended up staying for dinner as well.

  
  


Before practice the next day, Flower pulled Dylan over before he reached the ice, leading him towards the bench instead.

“Someone you need to meet,” he said, when Dylan asked him why.

Malcolm Subban sat on the bench next to the practice rink, a pillow between him and the wooden surface, and an unopened chemical ice pack resting on the boards in front of him. He turned to look at Dylan and stood, walking down the bench and opening his arms out for Dylan.

“Bring it in, man. You’re doing great.” He smacked his hands onto Dylan’s back.

When Dylan finally pulled away, he stuck out his hand to Malcolm. “We haven’t officially met yet. Hi, I’m Dylan. The guys call me Fergy. It’s nice to meet you.”

Malcolm grasped Dylan’s hand and shook it firmly. “Nice to meet you too, Dylan. So what’s this I hear about a Pizza Boy nickname?”

Dylan groaned, and settled in for the chirping as he hopped onto the ice to stretch.

 

***********************************************

 

The day after Dylan went into the game against the Oilers, Malcolm pulled him aside after practice and told him he was coming off of IR the day after tomorrow, after the Canucks game.

“You did great out there, you know that, right?” Malcolm wrapped his arm over Dylan’s shoulder and guided him down the hall to the players’ lounge.

Dylan wrapped his own arm around Malcolm’s waist. “Thanks, dude, it was incredible. And don’t tell me it’s nothing on me that I’m getting sent back down- I know it isn’t. But it was an amazing experience, and now I want to work that much harder to get back here. Play for real this time, not just as the backup-backup-backup-backup.” He pushed one lounge door open with his free hand while Malcolm got the other, and they plopped down onto the large, squashy leather couch together, where Max was already seated and watching game tape on an iPad. “And you better stay healthy this year, Subby, because I can’t take another Kamloops-NYC trip like that one again.”

Dylan pulled the iPad into his own lap so that they could all see and tucked his free hand into Max’s. Max leaned his head onto Dylan’s shoulder. For a better view, Dylan told himself, or maybe not.

  
  


After the Canucks game, Dylan flew back to Vegas with the team, only to be given his tickets home the next afternoon. Flower insisted on taking him to McCarran International, but when Dylan opened the passenger door to Flower’s SUV, he found Flower in the passenger seat (“I’m not driving with a concussion, are you kidding me?”) and Danser driving (“Still sore, so I’m being careful- it’s not my driving leg, don’t worry”), and Max and Subby in the backseat.

Max hopped out to stow Dylan’s suitcase, gear bag, and sticks, then ushered him into the middle seat in the back, before scooting in after Dylan and sandwiching him and lacing their fingers together. Dylan leaned his head onto Malcolm’s shoulder and turned to smile at Max softly, glancing briefly down at their entwined fingers. They stayed there for the rest of the drive, Flower and Danser occasionally looking at them in the rearview mirror and grinning at each other across the gearshift.

Danser pulled into the parking lot and they all hopped out, Flower grabbing Dylan’s suitcase and Malcolm his gear bag and sticks, and headed towards the Departures hall. Dylan was steered towards the plastic chairs that lined the walkway, where his stuff was unceremoniously dumped. Except, Dylan noticed, a shopping bag that he hadn’t realized Danser was carrying. Max tucked his hand back into Dylan’s and smiled at him.

“You’ve done great these past weeks, Prior keeps telling me about it,” Flower stuck his hands into his pockets and grinned at Dylan. “Couldn’t have asked for a better fifth-string goalie.”

“So we got you a present, a reminder of how proud we are of you, and how we know we’re going to be seeing you here again.” Danser held up the shopping bag. “You were willing to listen and learn, and you’re a part of this team now, even if we don’t see you again this season, but we know you’ll get to use this someday.”

Max withdrew his hand as Dylan reached for the bag. Dylan reached in and withdrew a golden goalie mask, emblazoned with the Golden Knights logo on top, with “VEGAS” and a number 1 stretching across the front. He noticed a few subtle flamingoes hidden in the glittering gold and red patterning on the sides.

“This is… stunning,” Dylan said, as he turned the mask over in his hands. “I don’t know what to say.”

“No pressure, Dylan.” Max wrapped his arm around Dylan’s shoulder. “Just be yourself and do your best, and know that we’re already proud of you.”

Dylan turned his head and they stared at each other, eyes bright and grins wide.

“I know you two want to stay and be cute, but Dylan has a plane to catch.” Flower came in and threw his own arm around Dylan’s waist. “Bring it in, boys, we need a goalie group hug.”

  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to M for editing this for me! Also thanks to the gc for making me write this because otherwise it would never get done
> 
> The games and their dates are accurate, but Flower was briefly on the roadie, and I'm not sure when he left, or when Dansk did, so I fudged it. Also, Malcolm is the only one Dylan wouldn't have met at preseason training camp, because he was claimed off waivers from the Bruins.
> 
> Come yell with me about hockey boys in the comments or on tumblr at ryannuggethopkins!
> 
>  
> 
> I have so many thoughts on little moments that I didn't put in this fic and they give me so many feels so here's just a few of them  
> -The pizza boy joke was one of the hot takes from Dylan's first game on the bench and he gets chirped a little bit and then everyone feels bad about chirping him for being young and sleepy? So they offer to take him out to dinner and he picks a fancy Italian place and orders a personal pizza just to fuck with them  
> -Imagine the love Dylan gets after he finally plays! everyone is super proud of him and happy, even though they lost really badly  
> -holding! hands! in the locker room!  
> -postgame fistbumps coming down the tunnel become group hugs instead sorry i don't make the rules  
> -the oscar/oscar thing becomes a thing. also oscar the grouch jokes when one of them is grumpy, and swedish chef jokes because there's a bunch of swedes on the team  
> -flower is a massive prankster (this is a Fact) and has decided to drag all other vegas goalies into being so as well. dylan is the best at getting away with shit, because he's really good at seeming innocent and confused and everyone adores him anyways. flower helps him take advantage of this. nealer is Not Happy about this turn of events  
> -someone adds "Fergalicious" to the locker room playlist and it basically becomes the team theme song, even after dylan goes home  
> -max is enamoured with dylan. will it become a thing? who knows. but as flower says, no pressure. they keep texting and facetiming once dylan goes back, and grow even closer. his kamloops backup gets very confused the one time dylan forgets where he is and tries to hold the guy's hand  
> -"team bonding" became a thing because everyone was a little lost and missed home/their old teams? and flower is a firm believer in giving Love And Affection at any given opportunity, so he convinced the As to start it and pretend it was their idea, but everyone knows it was really his


End file.
